June 2006

June 26, 2006

I never watched Sesame Street while growing up - we didn't have a TV most of the time, and when we did we typically only got one or two channels because we were so far out in the boonies. Yes, weep for me my friends...no Sesame Street, no Electric Company, no Mr. Rogers. It explains a lot doesn't it?

When I was a little bit older I did get to watch shows at my godparents house, but by then Sesame Street was no longer de rigueur; instead the Smurfs, He-Man, and the Flintstones were my drugs of choice. When I turned nine the Smurfs were preempted by some no-talent pansy ass show I refused to watch; I went through weeks of withdrawl. You know that dead baby crawling around on the ceiling in Trainspotting when Renton's parents make him go cold-turkey? That was me - the dead baby, not Renton. I considered myself to be dead, my life was certainly over, and I crawled around wailing about it for so long I'm surprised my mother didn't take a frying pan to my skull.

June 23, 2006

I recently said that if someone responds badly to you, it probably has more to do with how
their day is going than with what just happened between you two. I'd like to prove my own point. I'm having a tough day, not for any particular reason (other than lack of sleep and bitter jealousy towards my friends who have the gall to be going out tonight, rather than going to bed at 9pm like I probably will be), and thus my snarkiness knows no bounds.

To the girl walking up the Kresge steps in front of me this morning:

I am a fan of flamboyantly colored panties myself, particularly blue, so good job there. However, the horror that is the whale tail phenomenon* can only be made worse by trying to achieve the same effect with granny panties. I'm very glad to see that you understand the perils of crack, but still, a little fashion education seems to be in order.

Low-rider jeans can be worn any which way by chicks with boy hips. Chicks who have hit puberty, and chose to keep eating (those rebels), can also wear low-rider jeans - now here's the important part - with shirts long enough to cover their asses, hopefully even when sitting down. You, my friend, have taken it to a whole different place by choosing to have granny-panties blossoming out the back of your low-riders, exposed to the world in all their billowy glory, kind of like the parachute on a drag-racer just before it opens. The tension was palpable when the breeze suddenly picked up - would you be whisked into the sky or simply dragged across the quad?

To the wannabe marine in my fitness class:

Here is a list of things that piss me off about you:

Your yelling at the poor person who has the misfortune to be your buddy during the situp drill. It probably does motivate them, but only enough to complete the situp in order to get close enough to deliver the smack you so richly deserve.

Your pathetic attempts to suck up to/impress the instructor. I promise you, she's not impressed by the fact that you are "unsatisfied" with what she's dishing out. I will bring a video camera to class next week so that you can see for yourself what you look like - you might then understand that her drill choices are all that is standing between you and some severe injuries. She's the one with the degree in physical training, not you. She's the one with the six pack, not you. She's the one who can do pullups, NOT YOU.

Kicking the bench because you couldn't do one pullup**. I understand you were frustrated, and probably embarrassed. Maybe even as embarrassed as your poor situp partner when you were yelling at her. However, expressing frustration through physical violence is an understandable solution only for toddlers and the mentally deficient. Oh. Wait.

Here is a list of things that probably pisses you off about me:

I kick your ass at situps

I kick your ass at running

I kick your ass at pushups

I generally just kick your fucking ass

So - I suppose we're even.

To the girl at the gym this morning who felt the need to stand, naked as a jaybird, with one foot on a stool for the bulk of her beauty routine:

Woman, I thought I only needed to suffer through such behavior at Healthworks. But you know what? Healthworks has a hot tub, a eucalyptus steam room, and smells yummy...so I'll put up with the entirely gratuitous coochie flashing that seems to be so popular there. But this is Fitcorp, and so there is no eucalyptus steam room to retreat to, no hottub in which to rinse the image of your botched bikini wax out of my eyes, nothing at all to distract me from the overwhelming urge to start snapping a towel at your exposed girlie parts and scream "WHY WHY WHY?!!"
I just thought I should let you know.

Ah, I feel better.

* My favorite part of that pic is the little white bow she's rocking in her hair. "I may be showing a good portion of my ass crack, but I'm still a little girl at heart." Also, I realize I'm opening myself up to some charges of hypocrisy here, since I've not lived an entirely whale tail free life.

** This should not be taken in any way as mocking him for being unable to do a pullup.

June 22, 2006

I'm kind of appalled at how many quotes I couldn't identify the speaker for. The thing I find most amazing about Ann Coulter is that anyone pays attention to her. I mean, was everybody out sick the day the teachers taught us to ignore people who are just trying to get our goat? I really don't see how she's any different than a petulant child, I certainly don't take her any more seriously, and the best way to kill someone politically is to ignore them, no?

The guidelines advise mohels conducting oral-suction
circumcision about how to correctly wash their hands and clean their
fingernails, and says mohels should "rinse mouth thoroughly with a
mouthwash containing greater than 25 percent alcohol" for at least 30
seconds.

Ah yes, mouthwash, perfect for rinsing the taste of baby-dick out of one's mouth.

June 08, 2006

Remember that I mentioned how the male dwarf frog sings? Even now that the 36 hour copulation extravaganza that took place earlier this week is over, the male frog is swimming around singing his little brains out. I suppose any guy would be after that performance...but I continue to be amazed that he's got the energy. I would figure they'd be holed up under their log for the next week or two recuperating. The female frog is certainly swimming a little funny.

Two such wholesome, happy-go-lucky, nobody pees in their cornflakes, dare I say virginal-looking, boys. Doesn't it just make you want to fill them with vodka, take them to a strip-joint, and watch a big bootied stripper shake her thang in their face? They are just two christian filmakers I stumbled upon, but they just look so damn gruesome happy, it makes me want to taunt them - and since I'm going to hell anyway, I figured I'd go ahead.

I got on the train early the other morning and noticed that I was
surrounded by painters and construction workers - the typical early morning blue collar lot. A moment later I looked down and realized that I was

June 07, 2006

When my mom was here we had a conversation about vegetarianism, which I thought was interesting as an example of how human psychology works. We had been discussing the environment, more specifically why so many people just flat out don't believe in global warming (or at least in the human contribution to it), resource scarcity, or any of the other issues for which there seems to be pretty consistent scientific evidence, not to mention common sense, telling us that these effects are definitely happening, and will only get worse unless human behavior is changed.

My instinct tells me (or as S. Colbert would say, my GUT) that the reason there are so many people who seem blithely content to hold onto false beliefs is that changing those beliefs would then require behavioral changes in order to avoid cognitive dissonance. Believing that global warming isn't happening requires absolutely no changes in consumption or behavior, whereas believing in global warming probably means (assuming the average person has some sense of responsibility) at least some sacrifices in lifestyle. No more big, cushy, "safe" SUV, time to drive the smaller, less responsive, sedan.

June 05, 2006

I've been wondering what sex my two african dwarf frogs are - mostly because males do a cool singing thing that I was looking forward to hearing. Well, that question was answered on Sunday when I walked in on the two of them in flagrante delicto. "Aw, cute," I said. Now that they've apparently been at it for 24+ hours, I'm a little less enchanted. Awed, but not so much enchanted.

Painting. Painting, painting, painting. Painting. J and I are the proud
owners of a newly painted apartment, some very sore feet and
hamstrings, and nothing but giddy anticipation of what the next seven
days might bring...oh, right, more painting, with a dash of moving and
packing for fun. More painting because my gulag-style whippings on
Friday, Saturday, and Sunday were not enough to get our team to finish
the pantry and the trim in the bathroom. After we finish those little
tasks I'll just do some touchups over the blood spatters, and we're
good to go.